ARLINGTON CEMETERY

Yes.  We’ve been there. To Arlington Cemetery. Not once but twice.

During our first visit to Arlington, we buried the Mister’s father.  The second time, we buried his mother. Right next to his father, of course.

I have no words to describe the experience.  If you can recall a situation which affected you in ways could never, ever forget or find the words to describe something that changed a part of your life, forever and ever, well then, you’ll feel it.  You’ll get it. You’ll understand why I have no words for our Arlington experiences.

Sadly, I’ve needed to revert to politics for the second time in three weeks. I don’t like doing that but when anything remotely political has the potential to interrupt families who are burying their loved ones at Arlington, I have to say something.  Anything. 

When a bereaved family’s Arlington burial might be diminished by merry-makers partying atop the Triumphal Arch, I want to cry.  When the Trumpeter plays TAPS,  he/she should be the only one seen or heard. And, when the Arch appears to function as a reservoir for munitions whose sole intent is to take lives, I can’t stay quiet. Too many of those buried in Arlington lost their lives to munitions. 

I want every family member who buries a loved one in Arlington to have the same experience we did. It’s an honor to be laid to rest there. And it’s an honor for families to celebrate that commitment and ceremony. Quietly.  Peacefully.  Respectfully.  May it stay that way forever.